


The Bloody Crown of Queen Annes

by DarkPhoenixGoddess10



Category: The Tudors, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Execution, F/M, Gen, Marriage, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkPhoenixGoddess10/pseuds/DarkPhoenixGoddess10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were two English Queens named Anne who were born commoners and left a controversial mark in English history. Both met their end less than three years on throne. Before they die, their pasts flash before their eyes. What did they see?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bloody Crown of Queen Annes

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write something today - and this came to my mind. Hope you'll like it!

_May 1536, Tower of London_

It was dark and cold. Before the candle light, Anne Boleyn knelt and prayed feverishly. Tomorrow morning she will die; and she will die as Marchioness of Pembroke, but not Queen of England. Did it matter to her?

As she prayed, she prayed for her soul, for the possible clemency, for her father Earl Thomas Boleyn, for her sister Mary, and for her daughter, Princess Elizabeth. She was informed just days ago her daughter was now declared a bastard, thus now Lady Elizabeth. But in her heart, her daughter was the Princess of England.

With her eyes closed, she reminisced the days when she was a young teenager who served Queen of France. Her wittiness, her intelligence, her talent, and her looks attracted attention of thousands young men who were kept at arm’s length. She was not her sister, King Francois’ Great Prostitute. Her maidenhead was saved for marriage. And then one day, she was summoned back to England to serve Queen Catherine. It was then she met the King Henry, her lover, husband, and now her executioner.

_March 1485, Westminster_

The room was full of light, but for Anne Neville, it was dark. She was dying.

Maids and gentlewomen came and went. Each time she coughed, new bed sheets and new night shift needed to be changed. Her body was weak and beyond her control. She stared lifelessly in the ceiling, almost disconnected from reality. Her ladies looked at her with fear. Should they summon the Bishop for the Queen’s last rite?

Anne gently moved her fingers to touch her rings – the only way to bring herself back to reality. On her hand, there was her wedding ring. So many years ago, he placed it on her hand and sealed his vow to her with a kiss; thus began her new life. And there was her coronation ring. Two years ago, he placed it on her hand to make her a God-anointed Queen; thus her life began to fade. She knew she insisted that she doesn’t want the King to see her. But in her heart, she longed for him to be by her side, to keep death away. Her King, her husband, her friend, her soulmate, her savior.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Anne remembered the day she first met Henry. It was a masquerade performance. She was wearing a white dress and a mask; he was too masked. They danced side by side.

“Who are you” he whispered, besotted by her beauty the moment she was unmasked.

“Anne,” she replied. “Anne Boleyn.”

Soon after, she joined the household of Queen Catherine. The Queen was kind to her initially. Anne was attractive, intelligent, and chaste. Unlike her sister Mary, who already bore the King one bastard son and was pregnant with another, Anne was kept her distance from the King. Little did the Queen anticipate that it would be this lady who not only taken her husband’s heart but also her crown.

_March 1485, Westminster_

Anne muttered the only name that mattered to her, “Richard.”

Some nobles and ladies gossiped that Richard is her killer, that he is feeding her poison so that he could marry his niece, Lady Elizabeth. Anne knew it was outrageous and unreal. Richard would never do that. In her eyes, Richard is not that cold, distant King of England; but that boy who trained with her father. That boy who never gave up; that boy who was kind to her; and boy who grew up to be her savior.

As children, they did not interact much. Boys trained to be warriors and courtiers while girls trained to be ladies. When Anne blossomed into a young teenager, her mother Countess of Warwick told her that her would one day marry Richard and become Her Grace, the Duchess of Gloucester. Anne blushed in response, but still was clueless of what marriage really meant. However, fate had grander plans for her. Her father, Earl of Warwick, known as Kingmaker, switched alliance to the Lancasters and married her to Edward of Lancaster. She in turn became Princess of Wales.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Anne stroked her long raven hair. How many times had Henry brushed his lips against it? How many times had Henry stoked it tenderly? Tomorrow, her hair will be piled up to prepare for her execution.

Her Uncle Duke of Norfolk had taught her to seduce Henry to benefit the House of Howard and House of Boleyn. But Anne swore that she would not follow her sister’s path. The King may be besotted with her; he may grant her families titles and estates; but never may he touch her flesh without the marital vow. Her maidenhead was saved for marriage. Whoever wanted her maidenhead must marry her, even if he were the King of England.

She ignored his love letters and endless gifts. Was she playing a game with him? Or was she truly rejecting him? Anne eventually lost herself. The day when Henry came to her estate and begged her to return the court so he can see her, she confronted him.

“What have I done that I shall suffer this great humiliation?” She questioned him.

Henry may have been offended, but he was obviously hurt by her rejection. Before he left, he humbly muttered that he only wants to confess his heart to her. With that, he left without a word. Anne ran after him. Was she trying to stop him? Was she about to tell him that she changed her mind?

_March 1485, Westminster_

Lying in bed, Anne remembered her first marriage. Her first night with Edward of Lancaster was not much different from now. Lying lifelessly in bed.

Since the day she married Edward of Lancaster, so many things happened. Battles, deaths, betrayals—like demons haunting her. Margaret of Anjou, her mother-in-law, was a tough woman who led soldiers into the battlefield; Anne followed because she had no other choice. Her father died in battle; her sister Isabel rejoined the Yorks; her mother fled to sanctuary; her husband, who had no war experience, was slain. Some said that it was George of Clarence who murdered him. Some said that it was Edward IV who ordered his execution on the block with Richard and George watching. It didn’t matter to her. What matter was how she could survive?

In the end, Lancasters lost; Edward IV was King of England again. Anne was now a war prisoner along with her in-laws. Soon, her father-in-law was murdered in the Tower; her mother-in-law was kept alive until she was sent back to France years later. Who would’ve guess that she would outlive both Anne and Richard? Anne herself became a ward of George, Duke of Clarence, her traitorous brother-in-law.

Living with Clarences was awkward and humiliating. Isabel was kind, but not trustworthy. She already guessed that Anne was thinking of marrying Richard. Endlessly, she whispered lies in Anne’s ear to change her mind.

“You cannot marry Richard, for he is the murderer of our father and your first husband.”

“Richard is a serial philanderer and he already fathered two bastard children.”

“Richard only wants your fortune and estates. Once he got them, he would do anything to get rid of you and marry Mary of Burgundy.”

Unbeknownst to Anne, Richard tried tirelessly to see her. But George was blocking him, claiming that either Anne was ill or in deep grief for her loss.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Anne recalled that vow she made to Henry.

“When we are married, I will give you my body and we will have sons,” she promised him in return that Henry will marry her and make her Queen.

Queen Catherine was no fool. She knew her husband was a womanizer. She had tolerated Elizabeth Blount; she had tolerated Mary Boleyn; but she would not tolerate a woman who would stole her crown and destroy her marriage.

“He will tire you,” she warned her. “Like all the others.”

“And what if he does not?” Anne questioned the Queen daringly.

Angered by her lack of respect, Queen Catherine ordered her out of chamber.

Henry was indeed not tiring her. The King’s Great Matter was an affair that was on for years to come. Queen Catherine was a woman of intelligence with strong domestic and foreign alliance. She was the anointed Queen of England, paternal aunt to Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain. No, Henry could not just put her aside. She was a virgin when she married him.

Eventually, it was Anne who grew tired. She was getting older and would be thirty a few years to come. Queen Catherine was too powerful; not even the King was her match. Why did she waste her youth and virginity to achieve a dream that was never meant to be? Had she forsaken Henry, and marry a noble, she would be a lady with rank with sons and wealth. But now, she was just a royal mistress who can be casted aside. In anger and humiliation, she returned to Hever Castle despite Henry’s protest and plea.

_March 1485, Westminster_

Coughing again, Anne began to see Richard’s face. That face she waited for years ago when she anxiously wanted to leave the Clarence estate. She had overheard George’s conversation with Isabel. They would keep her under his thumb until the day she dies. No, that would not happen.

The only person who could save her was Richard. Even if he were the killer of Edward of Lancaster.

Gathering all her courage, she scribed a note and smuggled it to Richard. “Met me in the garden tonight,” she wrote.

And he was there. Without a word, she ran into his arms. She did not need to say anything; he knew.

Hand in hand, he took her away and hid her in Sanctuary.

She would remain there until they’re married.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Staring at the moon, Anne remembered her family and the roles they played. Her father and uncle urged her to return to Henry had the King called. They would not care if she were Queen or just a mistress. Either way, the family would be benefited. Anne would have none of it. If she and Henry were to be together, then it must be as husband and wife; King and Queen.

And it did.

King Henry VIII, with the help of Thomas Cromwell, broke away from Rome and established his own church, the Church of England. No one would tell him what to do with his own marriage.

Finally, her dream came true. Queen Catherine was sent away; her daughter, Princess Mary, was declared a bastard. She, Lady Anne Boleyn, became the new Queen, all but in name.

Henry then made her Marchioness of Pembroke, one step closer to be Queen. Knowing her position is secured, Anne gave her body and soul to Henry. Together, after so many years of waiting, they finally were able to touch skin to skin and soul to soul. They had become one. And a child was conceived that night.

Eager to make this heir legitimate, Henry had the new Archbishop Thomas Cramner declared his marriage to Catherine of Aragon void. Soon after, he married Anne Boleyn in a secret ceremony, with Thomas Brandon as witness.

Anne finally became Henry’s wife.

Months later, while six month pregnant, Anne was given a grand coronation. But there were a few cheers for the new queen.

_March 1485, Westminster_

Stroking her wedding ring again, Anne reminisced the day when she and Richard married. Finally, after an intense struggle, Richard got everything she could’ve asked for: a marriage, a home, a rank, and a family. She was no longer a Lancastrian widow or a daughter of traitor. She was Her grace, the royal Duchess of Gloucester. As Lady of North, she returned to her homeland with Richard and became the mistress of the Middleham Castle, her childhood home. The wedding was a small affair, but what counted was the life afterwards.

She had nothing but happiness.

Ten months after the wedding, she gave birth of her first child, Edward of Middleham.

The child was born premature and the labor was long and intensive. Anne almost died.

The child was small; the midwives feared that he might not live long.

But Richard said he was perfect and his face was glowed with pride and happiness.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Stroking her belly, Anne Boleyn asked herself, “When did he start to hate me?”

She should’ve known the answer: since the day she failed to give him sons.

She should’ve known Henry did not just marry her for love. Had Catherine of Aragon’s sons lived, she would not even stand a chance of being Queen of England.

Henry was besotted with her intelligence, her personality, her youth, and most importantly, her fruitful belly.

She truly believed that the child she was carrying was a boy. God must have joked with her.

It was a girl. Princess Elizabeth.

It was not that bad then. She and Henry were both young and brothers should soon follow.

But none did.

It was miscarriage after miscarriage.

The King began to tire her. His eyes set on another lady, Lady Jane Seymour.

_March 1485, Westminster_

Anne thought of her son, her poor little Edward. Since the day of his birth, he was a weak child. She kept on telling herself that he will grow, but she never convinced herself. Richard told her that she was being overprotective. Aside from the days she had her course, Richard never shunned her bed. Soon, they would have more children. They even planned the names for their unborn children: Anne, Isabel, Richard, Edmund, Margaret, Cecily, Francis.

But there was no more children.

Anne had one miscarriage after another.

Painful failures.

After her last miscarriage, she was in coma and fever. Richard kept a vigil by her bedside and held her hand until she came to.

“I don’t mind if we don’t,” he assured her, seeing her eyes filled with apologies and guilt. “As long as I have you. And we have our Edward.”

His lips pressed against her fingers.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded silently, fearing that she would die.

But she didn’t.

She lived and stood by his side when George was executed, when Edward IV died, when Richard took the throne and declared his nephews bastards.

People could say whatever they like. As his wife and Queen, Anne Neville would always stand with her husband and stood by his reasons. In her heart, she knew he would do the same for her.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

The thought of Lady Jane Seymour was like a dagger in her heart. She would never forgive her. It was Lady Jane Seymour who killed her unborn son. After catching her in Henry’s lap, Anne lost her mind; that night she lost her unborn son. Soon after, she was brought to the Tower.

The whole thing was too ridiculous to be true. She was Henry’s Queen, his truly wedded wife. How could he do this to her?

She was a fool to believe that. It was her own undoing actually. Since she proved a royal princess like Queen Catherine of Aragon could be put aside for failing beget sons, then she, a noble lady, could easily put aside as well. Lady Jane Seymour replaced her as she replaced Catherine. Realizing that, Anne laughed hysterically, at herself and at Jane Seymour. Sooner or later, Jane would taste the bitter fruit of wear a crown.

She was Henry’s Queen and mother of his child. How could anyone believe that she would be guilty of charges of treason, witchcraft and incest? Did Henry really want to get rid of her that badly? Maybe he was just frightening her into obedience.

She was wrong. After witnessing the beheading of her brother George Boleyn, reality hit her. Anne cried her heart out. The power of the throne is always heartless.

She stood by Henry when he needed her. Who would stand by her now?

_March 1485, Westminster_

Her chest was tight, she gasped for air. Blood splattered all over the blankets. Was her end near?

The room was becoming darker and darker. Her ladies knew; immediately, they sent the word out for the Bishop and for the King.

The court was full of gossip that Richard was bedding his niece, Lady Elizabeth; and that he murdered his nephews in the Tower. No, not Richard. She would never believe that.

Richard did not shun her; it was she who shunned him.

When her son died, she was not even by his side. Guilt and pain filled her heart. Looked at herself in the mirror, she found herself as a useless creature. Richard is King of England and he needs his Prince of Wales. Without legitimate sons, his line would not stabilize. Henry Tudor was a threat. Maybe it was for the better that she dies so that Richard can marry again, forming stronger alliance and begot sons.

Maybe God was granting her wish. Her coughs became stronger and stronger. Blood was everywhere.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Morning came, it was time.

Dressed in a gray gown trimmed with fur and an ermine cape, she would die with every measure of dignity. She would die as a queen.

Stepped out of the Tower with four ladies behind her, she saw the sun.

It would be the last time she saw it.

Showing no fear, she sauntered to scaffold and climbed up without shaking. Facing the crowd, she started her speed, “Good Christian people, I have come here to die…”

Meanwhile, Lady Jane Seymour was changing her attire as the new Queen and Henry was hunting.

He did care for her, somewhat. After all, he spared her from the same fate suffered by Joan of Arc and spent 20 pounds hiring a French executioner. The death would be painless.

_March 1485, Westminster_

Death was near, but Anne would not breathe her last, not until she sees Richard for one last time.

And he was here.

Busted into the chambers, ordered everyone out, he flew to her bedside and held her hands firmly.

“Anne, my sweet Anne,” he whispered.

“Richard…” Anne said weakly. “You’re here.”

“Yes, love, I’m here.” Despite physicians’ warnings, and despite the blood stained bed, Richard buried his face into Anne’s neck and held her passionately. “Don’t go, please don’t go. I need you.”

“You will have a new queen,” she told him. “Beget sons, defeat Henry Tudor, be a good king.”

“No,” he whispered. “No…life has no meaning without you. You are my conscious, my everything.”

“Richard,” suddenly Anne found the room much brighter, and herself full of strength. “I have something to ask you, and please tell me the truth.”

He nodded.

“You love me, truly?”

His face was full of pain. He nodded, “I do, and always have.”

“Why did you ask King Edward to pass the clause to declare all my fortunes to remain as yours even if we divorce?”

Richard hesitated, “Who told you?”

Anne did not respond.

Richard held her hands tighter. “That is not woman’s matter, Anne. I love you, only you. Our marriage was sacred and real.” Reaching into his doublet, he pulled out a document. “Look,” he placed it before her eyes.

Anne’s eyes widened. Papal dispension. The dates. Her marriage was sacred and real, all this time.

She looked at Richard, trying to nod to show her acceptance of his explanation. But she could not.

She died with a satisfying smile.

Richard remained by her side and held her hand, refusing to let go as if he was waiting for her to awake again.

Outside, the moon was covering the sun. An eclipse.

In modern days, people called it science. In Middle Ages, it was a sign of God’s disapproval.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Finishing her speech, Anne removed her cape, her headdress, her necklace. She rewarded the executioner and thanked him in French, a language she spoke fluently. Her ladies, who were cold and distant, now started to weep. Anne Boleyn, whatever she had done, did not deserve this. But she was Anne Boleyn, a woman who knew how to win a crowd, even if it was her last moment on earth. Knelt before the executioner, the crowd knelt too. One by one, until last man standing – Thomas Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who planted the seed of Anne Boleyn’s unfaithfulness to Henry’s mind. Seeing people around him all knelt, he couldn’t help but knelt too. God damn him.

“Jesus I commend my soul…” she whispered.

“Boy, fetch my sword!” the executioner shouted.

That gave her a moment of calmness. She faced the sun one last time, completely unaware that death was right behind her.

One stroke, it was done.

Anne Boleyn marked history as the first Queen Consort executed in Europe.

_March 1485, Westminster_

The Queen died; the King was inconsolable. He shut himself away for three days.

There were duties that still need to be done. The Queen needed a funeral.

And he gave her a funeral, a magnificent one that a Queen deserved.

At the funeral, suddenly, Richard lost his usual dignity and wept openly in the public as if he wanted to join the Queen in death.

Days later, he sent Lady Elizabeth away and cleared the filthy rumors of his possible incestuous marriage.

And he prepared for the battle against Henry Tudor.

Little did his men know, the King was already a dying man.

Spending hours by the Queen’s bed, highly likely he was infected.

He was coughing blood himself, only secretly.

Come what may, Richard only wanted to join his wife and son in heaven.

_May 1536, Tower of London_

Anne Boleyn died. The Queen’s position was now vacant.

Henry and Jane Seymour married the next day.

Henry did not even bother to provide Anne Boleyn a coffin, so she was buried in an arrow chest in an unmarked grave.

And ending that only a dead dog would deserve.

Years later, her daughter ascended throne and became Queen Elizabeth I.

There was a famous playwright during her reign named William Shakespeare, who penned “Richard III”.

In the play, Richard seduced his wife over her father-in-law’s coffin and then poisoned her to marry his niece.

This play convinced people for generations that Richard was cruel to his wife.

But how long can propaganda dominate over the truth?

The Tudors may say whatever they like about Richard III and his Queen Anne Neville. But the truth remain out there and will never be diminished. 


End file.
